Dear John

It's like
the less I need to do
to get you off,
the more erotic it becomes. 
I'm not going to give you the things
those other men take
while you're watching. 
*
Is their dick size important? 
Of course. 
You never believed otherwise...
except when you were young and so completely
incapable of accepting your situation. 
Your length. Your girth. Your stamina.
*
Now, you understand who you are
because I've shown you. 
You understand I've no use for your
prick in my pussy. 
That's why I jerk you off
after my lovers
fill me up.
*
That's why you watch their hot cum
dripping from my devastated
cunt. 
*
That's why you nut so sufficiently
when I stroke you so softly.
*
It doesn't matter if they're waiters
or yardwork attendants. 
It doesn't matter if they're teens or
thirty-year-old fathers.
*
What matters
is they take me and
use me.
* 
What matters
is they FUCK me...
*
and you can tell when I'm coming
because I'm gushing
on their cocks.
*
I know you like that...
the sticky thick batter that
cakes to their shafts and clumps
in the creases of their slap-happy scrotums.
*
You let them ram me
into convulsions. 
*
I like
the way
those guys look
at you when they finish me. 
They know I'm unprotected.
They're appalled you allow it. 
Still, it gives them incentive
to breed me.
* 
I don't ever bother
taking plan B. 
You don't expect that,
do you? 
You know I'll get pregnant
eventually.
*
I just lie there after they leave...
let my pussy leak freely
down the seam of my crack
where you'll slurp up
my creamy river.  
*
You're hard when I
finally reach for you. 
You've been ready
for a while, aching
for relief.
*
And I know by the sheen of
your slick, spongy knob,
this is going to be
quick and
easy...